


remember my name

by 2manyboys



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hockey, F/F, Fluff and Humor, Hockey Fights, M/M, NHL All-Star Game, Now with fanart!!!, Podfic Available
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-13
Updated: 2020-08-13
Packaged: 2021-03-05 22:08:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,433
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25882609
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/2manyboys/pseuds/2manyboys
Summary: In the off season, the team acquires Nicky for draft picks and pocket change. There’s rumors he requested it, furious with the way the season ended and with the front office leaking his injuries. Twitter won’t stop laughing about how this means the end of a glorious rivalry, posting endless threads of Joe and Nicky going at each other, spinning in circles, yelling in Italian. Joe calls Andy and begs her to run interference, but come Media Day he’s gritting his teeth and suffering through eight hours of pretending Nicky’s his new best friend for the cameras. Even hockey fights dot com knows better than that.They got Quynh in the middle of the season, the blowout season Andy became Captain. They lose her in the middle of a season too, the season Nicky and Joe do their dance. That’s how it goes sometimes. The show goes on.
Relationships: Andy | Andromache of Scythia/Quynh | Noriko, Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 137
Kudos: 575





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Title from Mitski’s excellent song of the same name. Unrepentant silliness. Hockey’s back and I’m an absolute sucker with nothing better to do than inflict this on everyone. Joe/Nicky focus first chapter, Andy/Quynh the next.

The first time, Nicky gets in a punch so lucky it smacks out both his front teeth. The trainers take a “hockey smile” picture to put up on the Jumbotron in all its gorey glory, explaining Joe’s absence from the rest of the game. That’s the last time he smiles all night. It hurts, once the adrenaline wears off. 

There’s a reason nobody sits next to him on the ride home. The air pressure on the plane makes his cheek swell up until he looks like Frankenstein’s monster and he’s still so pissed off he’s squeezing a team-branded stress ball in one hand and liking every angry fan tweet he can find with the other. 

@punkbuccy6969 says “you can’t do that, not to that handsome face!! 10 game suspension!!”  
@cptncanadagrl says “absolute SHIT where was the team support where were the refs”  


Once the fans see he’s liking tweets, the team hashtag turns into “@therealJoehockey if you’re reading this I’m free on Thursday to hang out pls respond and hang out with me on thursday when I’m free” and “suck it up or fight better princess!” Joe closes twitter with an angry swipe. The PR team won’t be happy with him, again.

Andy turns around in her seat to say something only to wince at the state of his face. 

“What do you want, Captain?” Joe asks Andy, with way more sass than he’d usually risk outside of a joke. He’s got gauze in his mouth but Andy’s used to understanding him with a mouthguard in, so she gets it. 

“I was going to ask if you’d seen his profile on hockey fights dot com.” Andy says, waving her phone. 

Joe sighs, slumping back in his seat. “Andy… nobody uses that site. It’s older than you.”

“I’m pretty sure it’s not, Andy’s _much_ older than the Internet.” Quynh says, grinning. Her legs are looped over the armrest of her seat next to Andy, leaning back into Andy’s shoulder and kicking out into the plane aisle. She’s kicking Booker’s ass on PSP, because she always is on team flights. Of course, she doesn’t have to glance up from the screen to chirp. 

“I’m just saying, I’m not interested in who they’re saying won the fucking fight.” Joe complains. 

“It’s not that.” Andy says, “Although anyone with eyes can see it wasn’t you.”

“Ha ha.” Joe says. The face he pulls at her makes everything hurt for a second but it’s worth it.

“I just wondered if you knew that he’s never been in a fight before you.” Andy continues.”On ice, anyway.”

“It’s not like Joe’s some enforcer either.” Booker says, glancing up at Joe’s face for proof. 

Quynh laughs and says, “Yeah J, how many have you had? Two? Andy’s the one racking up the Gordie Howe’s.”

Joe ignores them both. 

“Not even in Major Juniors?” He asks Andy.

“Nope.” Andy says, smug. 

“He has it out for me specifically?” Joe says, pulling it up on his phone to confirm. Some part of that appeals to his ego. “Almost romantic.”

* * *

The second time, Joe gets him back. He’s been asking for the opportunity the whole game, taking two of the stupidest penalties of his career in the first period for hooking, following them up with getting booted from _every single face-off_ they share in the second, after which Andy literally picks him up by the back of his jersey and shakes him like a naughty puppy. Nicky skates away, apparently unconcerned, but Joe can tell that fucker is smiling. 

In the third he finds his focus, dekes past Nicky, undresses the defense, and slaps a beauty of a one-timer gloveside that has him, admittedly, acting a real fool for the celly. Next time their lines are both on the ice Nicky slides his mouthguard half out, leans over his stick, shoots Joe a look that's pure steel and says, “You wanna go?”

It’s a terrible cliche, but Joe’s shaking his gloves off practically before the puck touches the ice. 

They dance a little more this time, long enough for Joe to snarl out a few choice words about _making him wait_ and _having to score to get his attention_. Nicky’s hair sticks to his forehead with sweat and his fingers are warm when they finally curl against Joe’s collar, gripping almost tight enough to rip. Joe takes sick pleasure out of splitting his lip and knocking him gracelessly to the ice. 

He doesn’t resist as the refs pull him off, he’s too busy enjoying the sight of Nicky spitting blood, definitely smiling this time. 

“Christ.” Andy says, throwing her hands up in the locker room like they didn’t just win with a shutout. Booker stood on his head through all the penalty kills Joe put them through, which makes it even funnier that she says, “Why they let men in the league I swear I’ll never know.”

* * *

The third time isn’t strictly a fight, but it does get on ESPN’s sport highlights for the week so Joe’s counting it. 

What happens is, Nicky loses his stick. Joe’s on the powerplay and Nicky loses his stick and it’s really impossible for anybody to say how. Big mystery. Alright, so Joe knocked it out of his hands and kicked it away for good measure, but he didn’t get called for it so it basically didn’t happen. 

What does definitely happen is that Nicky tries to take Joe’s stick in retaliation, to be of any use on the ice or possibly just make them equally useless. Joe doesn’t appreciate that very much. They break the stick between them yanking it back and forth like they’re children arguing over a crayon and the refs get confused for a while deciding who should get the holding penalty. 

Eventually Nicky gets the time but Joe gets just as long for unsportsmanlike conduct, aka running his mouth. Quynh slaps at his shins with her stick as he joins her in the box, chirping, “There goes your Lady Byng chances, J.”

Nicky doesn’t sit quietly like he usually does, like he’s in confession. Instead he’s up against the wall pointing at Joe over the bald head of the real-time sports commentator in the section between them, shouting a series of rude and frustrated things in Italian. He catches his breath, grimaces, and goes to sit back down, but the thing is, Joe knows Italian. So he shouts back.

The surprise on Nicky’s face is glorious. Soon they’re both yelling, smacking the glass, amusing the commentator and the crowd for the remainder of their time. That’s the clip that ends up on ESPN, the commentator’s huge grin, bookended by Joe and Nicky waving gloved hands around. 

It doesn’t come to blows when they’re released because they’re both too focused on rejoining the play, but when they’re back on the bench, Nicky sticks his head out towards him and shouts, “Your accent’s worse than your backcheck.” Joe’s traitorous team loses their collective shit laughing. 

“I backcheck.” Joe grumbles, smacking Booker on the back half-heartedly as he chokes on his gum. Stupid goalies always blowing bubbles.

* * *

The fourth time doesn’t count. It doesn’t count because it’s not _their_ fight, it’s more of a line brawl. Sure they make a beeline for each other as soon as it’s clear things are going down, but it’s not the same. 

Andy’s absolutely wailing on Nicky’s captain, Lykon has one of Nicky’s linemates in a friendly headlock, and Joe and Nicky get a grip on each other in a way that’s becoming way too familiar. Joe’s pulling his punches, keeping his eyes mostly on Andy. He has to assume, just based on how he still has his remaining teeth, that Nicky is too. 

Just as Joe’s wondering how long the refs are going to let Andy smack her opponent around, he must not be bleeding yet, Nicky says, “Congrats on making the All Stars,” and Joe’s so surprised he slips. Ice is slippery. Sometimes it likes to remind him. He forgets to let go of Nicky on the way down, so he gets the air knocked out of him as all two hundred pounds of Nicolò di Genova lands on top of him. Their foreheads slam together, making them both wince, and Nicky knees him so hard in the cup he feels tears well up in his eyes. 

The two of them flat on the ice is what makes the refs break things up. Joe has to take a concussion test before they let him back in the game, but he does get released. Nicky skates past him during a line change after and says, “Can’t take a compliment, eh?”

* * *

The fifth time isn’t pretty. It’s playoffs, nothing pretty about it. Joe shoves Nicky hard, too hard, away from Booker after a brilliant save, protective in a way the moment really doesn’t warrant, and Nicky gives him a look that’s all contempt. Joe’s really been trying to do better than this but he absolutely sees red. 

They punch inelegantly at each other for a while, grappling, the crowd roaring, and then Joe’s fist connects hard with Nicky’s ear twice in quick succession, the force sending him almost to his knees. Joe still has a grip on him but all that does is ensure that Nicky’s chin smacks against his leg on his way down. 

Joe slinks his way off the ice after that one, head down.

* * *

The next two games in the series they stay away from each other, but it can’t last forever. Nicky starts checking him hard, checking everybody hard, even though the entire internet knows he’s playing through undisclosed broken toes. His team is about to be swept, of course he’s fucking playing. Joe hates everything about it but he takes the hits, he doesn’t strike back. He wants to win. He always just wants to win.

Joe isn’t sure who starts the fight this time, but it’s a real clusterfuck. Guys just piling on, somebody trying to pull somebody else away and getting slammed down on top, over and over til even Booker is racing his way across the ice towards it. That’s the last thing Joe sees before he’s consumed by the pile. Somebody’s glove is in his face, somebody else’s leg is between his, Joe shoves _hard_ , swearing in frustration at being trapped. Suddenly it’s just him and Nicky. 

Nicky dragging him to his feet, Nicky shoving his bucket off, Nicky’s hands appearing like magic out of disappeared gloves. Nicky messily beating him black and blue across the arm, Nicky practically holding him up, giving him a classic shiner. 

The refs are there, trying to restrain him before he goes for the teeth again - Joe’s never letting that go - but Nicky doesn’t automatically release his hold. He keeps pulling Joe’s sweater taut between them. Their eyes meet. Joe can’t think of anything funny to say. 

They sweep Nicky’s team and make it to the finals.

* * *

They lose in the finals, bad. It’s a real heartbreaker of a series. Lykon gets injured game one, then Andy, and fucking Booker is so stressed he keeps allowing own goals. They drag it out to six games, at which point Joe is running on fumes, spaghetti, and yellow gatorade. He plays more overtime than any season prior, his TOI highest on the team. His beard is more alive than the rest of him. He definitely doesn’t get five for fighting in this round, he’s too busy trying to get pucks on net. 

It’s not enough. Nothing clicks with their shuffled lines, their emergency call-up rookies are full of energy but fuck up the little things. Their turnovers are a fucking tragedy. His one shining light in the whole mess is Nile. She’s absolutely fearless and fast as hell, stops him from biting Booker’s head off, gets her first NHL goal and her first hat trick soon after that. 

As they’re high-tailing it off the ice that last game, watching confetti fall for some other group of assholes, Nile slides under his arm to support half his weight and says, “Alright old man, time to report your knee issue or I’m doing it for you.” Looking at her, Joe thinks with absolutely certainty: _We’ll get ‘em next year._

The name Nile Freeman is going on that cup, even if he has to steal it out of somebody’s pool and carve it on himself.

* * *

In the off season, the team acquires Nicky for draft picks and pocket change. There’s rumors he requested it, furious with the way the season ended and with the front office leaking his injuries. Twitter won’t stop laughing about how this means the end of a glorious rivalry, posting endless threads of Joe and Nicky going at each other, spinning in circles, yelling in Italian. Joe calls Andy and begs her to run interference, but come Media Day he’s gritting his teeth and suffering through eight hours of pretending Nicky’s his new best friend for the cameras. Even hockey fights dot com knows better than that.

The real problem is, Nicky’s hot. The more he and Joe share space and answer the same boring questions and pose for the same set of photos as every year, the more Joe sees that Nicky’s honest, passionate, and tough in an understated way. He’s got hands to die for, silky smooth. Joe’s allowed to appreciate them now and he really does. He _really_ does. Andy very quickly stops texting him back about this meltdown. 

(Booker sends him a youtube link of Nicky’s best snipes and tells him to watch it when he’s alone. That fucker. He knows Joe will.)

At this point they’re wearing the exact same outfit, hoodies with the team logo over their dress pants. Nile, Dizzy, Jay, and some other rookies waddle past their room in full gear, following Andy like ducklings, headed towards the 360 cam. Nile waves a gloved hand and Joe waves back, smiling too big, very aware that they’re on camera.

Whichever PR person decided he and Nicky should play 20 questions like they’re on an awkward first date is a sadistic bastard and Joe’s going to submit a complaint as soon as he’s done staring into Nicky’s eyes. He can’t decide what color they are. Sea glass? Slate? At least this is better than competitive cup stacking, but Joe prefers doodle games or winning at trivia. You can’t win at 20 questions.

“When did you learn Italian?” Nicky reads off a card with their team logo on the back, adding, “Buona domanda!”, smiling at the camera and then at Joe.

“I had a pen pal in elementary school who spoke it, he wrote to me to practice English but I thought that wasn’t fair so I started learning.” Joe rattles off his own scripted answer. He’s given it a hundred times before, usually around the Olympics when everybody remembers he’s something of a polyglot. 

“Oh.” Nicky says. 

“Then I kept at it in college, because I was studying art history and-“ Joe breaks off, catching the look on Nicky’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s- in elementary school? So you were…”

“Nine or ten I think.” Joe says.

“Oh.” Nicky says again, softer.

Joe has the same moment of realization but he tries to cover it, the media team won’t turn the cameras off if they catch wind of this. He clears his throat and says, “If you’re saying I still sound like I’m ten...”

“Yes.” Nicky says, still looking slightly dazed, “You do actually.” 

Joe gamely slugs him on the shoulder, nothing but a love tap. They both fake laughter. 

All Joe can think about is another practiced interview answer of his, how he first came out to a pen pal he’d never met in person, something about that distance giving him the courage. That’s when his pen pal stopped writing. 

How they manage to get through the rest of the game, Joe has no idea. As soon as he’s able to, he's pulling Nicky into a break room and locking the door behind them, belatedly realizing this probably looks bad, even if Nicky is who he thinks he is.

Joe doesn’t screw around. He puts his back against the door, crosses his arms, and says: “No way were you my pen pal. No way.” 

“I never knew your real name was Yusuf.” Nicky says, staring at him. He’s gone very still, wary perhaps, or just surprised. Behind him is a conference table, behind that a wall of floor to ceiling windows. He’s backlit by the sun. 

“Nicky, come on, that’s on my Wikipedia page.” Joe insists, wanting to be convinced of it, even if it means what he thinks it does. Even if it means Nicky will never agree to crash with him while he house hunts. Joe loves hosting the new guys and he’s never had a crush on one of them before.

“You had a box turtle named Steve because Yzerman was your favorite player.” Nicky says. “You broke your leg trying to skateboard and thought it meant you’d never go pro because you missed a season. You were going to become an artist instead.”

“Oh.” Joe says, “Nicky.”

“It was me.” Nicky says. He squares his shoulders and says, “Joe, I didn’t want to stop writing back. My parents found the letter, the one where you said-“

“That I’m gay.” Joe says, because after all this time he still prefers to be the one who says it about himself. 

“Yes, and I was scared when they found it. Scared they would find out that I was too, because I knew they wouldn’t let me keep playing hockey or stay over with friends or… Joe.” Nicky says, his face doing something complicated, “I’m sorry.”

“Nicky, it was twenty years ago.” Joe says, shaking his head. He didn’t need pity then and he doesn’t need it now.

“It wasn’t right.” Nicky insists, and says again, “I’m so sorry, Joe. I left you alone, I shouldn't have done that.” 

“Back up a second, you’re coming out to me?” Joe says, lowering his voice.

Nicky shrugs, “You came out to me first.” 

Yeah, Joe thinks, first of anyone in the world. Still, something about the understated way Nicky says it gets his hackles up. This is the guy he fought all last season, this is the guy he used to complain to about spelling tests. “You don’t owe me anything.” Joe says, serious.

“I owe you the apology.” Nicky replies calmly, his gaze flicking down to Joe’s mouth, “Plus, as you said, the cost of your new teeth.” 

A feeling rises up in Joe the same way it does before a shootout. Anticipatory. A make-or-break type of feeling. Nicky’s still looking at his mouth. There’s something else where his caution should be. He grabs Nicky’s sweatshirt with both hands and kisses him. If he gets punched, it won’t be the first time. 

He doesn’t get punched. Nicky shoves him back against the door and kisses him like Joe made him wait twenty years to do it. Joe unclenches a hand from Nicky’s shirt and raises it to his face, gentle, and Nicky softens the kiss to something closer to apology. It’s a good kiss, a better kiss than Joe’s had in ages. Nicky’s just the right height, just pushy enough, and he smells fucking amazing. Joe feels _want_ flash through him like a goal light. 

They’re both breathing hard when Nicky pulls his mouth away, groans, and drops his head down onto Joe’s shoulder. Joe rubs both hands up and down his back, soothing, keeping him close. They just hug for a minute, quiet, like they’ve done it a thousand times before. 

_Shit,_ Joe thinks, _this’ll be a fun season._

* * *

#### B Side

The way it starts for Joe, getting his teeth punched out, isn’t the way it starts for Nicky. 

The problem isn't that Joe likes to talk or that he doesn’t mind cameras, although those are both true, probably because he knows exactly how handsome he is. Joe does a lot of post-game interviews. The problem is that most of the sports journalists have figured out how to get him to say more than the same statements over and over. 

Any other player, when asked about someone else coming for their record, would say they enjoy the challenge or they appreciate talent in the league this year. Joe says: “Nicolò di Genova can kiss my ass.”

Nicky can only imagine the dressing down he gets from his PR team, his captain, his agent. That’s not enough to make up for the way his mentions across social media are suddenly slammed with photos of Joe’s ass and the kissy face emoji. The sheer level of sexual harassment shocks him and these people don’t even know he’s gay. 

They definitely don’t know that some of those pictures turn him on or they’d probably stop sending them. Joe has a fantastic hockey ass and his summer training camp is particularly lax about dress code. It gets to the point where Nicky sees Joe’s ass when he closes his eyes, that’s when he turns over his accounts to team management for a while. That’s also when he breaks Joe’s smile.

Joe is not generally an asshole off the ice, he contributes more than half his salary to a local children’s hospital, he rides a float in the pride parade, he’s loud sometimes but his reputation is a good guy who tries hard and loves the game. On the ice, Joe is a real shit. He’s pushy, he argues with refs, he celebrates his garbage goals as much as his beauties. He’s an all-around player, he makes guys mad with how good he is and, when he does fight, he fights like at some point somebody gave in and showed him how to do it right. 

Nicky’s never been in a fight. It’s the kind of thing that his parents would have pulled him out of the sport for, the kind of thing they’re trending away from anyway in terms of fan support and league rules. Joe, his teammates tell him, has it coming. 

He gives into temptation, thinking _just this once_ and _now they’ll leave me alone _.__

____

____

Nicky cuts his knuckles on Joe’s teeth and doesn’t see him for the rest of the game. It doesn’t taste like victory.

* * *

After that he has Joe’s attention, which is somehow worse than a thousand pictures of his ass. For Nicky’s concentration they have about the same effect. 

Their next game Joe isn’t playing hockey as much as he’s pulling Nicky’s pigtails. It’s horribly amusing and his captain - Andromache, who’s practically already a hall of famer- lets him know. Joe changes tactics like it’s that easy for him to channel his energy into making Nicky look like an idiot instead. Nicky forgot for half a second that he’s a good player, that his ass looks like that for a reason, and for that he gets to wince through the replay of _that goal_ for what feels like days. Joe moves straight through him, it’s painfully embarrassing and such a turn on it makes Nicky furious.

This time Nicky gives in to the narrative, to the roaring of the crowd, to Joe’s blatant flirting. He still thinks he’s going to win until he’s falling at Joe’s feet with blood in his mouth. 

The time after that, he’s fed up with it all. He’s topped Joe in the points race and he still has to deal with kissy face comments that could be innocent but he just knows they’re about Joe. He’s going to quit the internet. 

He’s not going to quit the internet. He can’t, he doesn’t have any friends in this city, all his teammates are married with young children. The loneliness doesn’t weigh on him all the time, but when it does Nicky starts asking his agent about trades. He starts talking to Joe in Italian. 

Nicky can’t be sure what possesses him, it’s probably the way Joe winks at him from the opposing team’s penalty box like the game they’re playing is fun for him. Joe makes him want to scream, so he does.

**_“You’re such a child. You can’t win unless you’re pulling some bullshit, can’t just leave me alone. I don’t care anymore! Fuck this league! Fuck you! I’m trying to play the right way!”_ **

He’s not expecting Joe to scream back, not expecting to hear his language on Joe’s tongue. 

**_“Hey, fuck you! I didn’t decide we were bitter rivals! I should send you my dentist bill!”_** Joe yells, smacking his gloves against the glass so hard it shakes and wobbles. 

“Kiss my ass.” Nicky bites out, in both languages to make sure Joe gets it. He very clearly does not. Nicky chirps him again on their respective benches, feeling something in him break when Joe’s team laughs and his own just pulls him back with reprimands.

* * *

Playoffs is playoffs. The less said about that the better. 

Except Nicky has a lot to say and he finds himself choking it back, pressing his agent harder to please, please, get him out of here. They make it happen.

In the dog days of summer he finally gets to take the boot off his busted foot and then he gets to sit in a room under a lot of hot lights looking into the deep warm eyes of Joe Al-Kaysani.

* * *

Maybe they’re both idiots. Nicky moves in with him after one kiss. 

Trying to take things slow while cohabitating certainly isn’t the best idea. They keep having moments, hands brushing over the coffeemaker in the morning, leaving their shoes together at the door, debating carpooling to practice and whose car to drive. Several times they’ve accidentally worn each other’s gear, walking around with the wrong name and number until somebody points it out. They wrestle over remotes, they cook together, they live together in a strange balance of domestic bliss and unresolved sexual tension.

(Which isn’t to say they don’t argue. Joe insists he never said ‘Nicolò di Genova can kiss my ass.’

“If I’d said your full name you would have known I spoke Italian.” Joe argues.

“You overestimate your accent.” Nicky grumbles, but it’s affectionate, a running joke. It makes Joe smile. He’s getting better now that they speak it at home.)

Besides which, Nicky feels like he knows Joe, has known him all his life. That’s not strictly true but he can ask after Joe’s family by name and play music he liked as a kid just to make him laugh. He gets to see his ass in person now. It’s better in person. 

This whole thing is supposed to be temporary but Nicky hates every house the realtor his agent found shows to him. He doesn’t even like Joe’s house really, it’s sleek and ultramodern and you can see into all of the glass showers, but it has Joe in it. Nicky, who Joe has begun insisting to reporters is a very sweet man who carries spiders out of the house on envelopes rather than squish them, concocts an elaborate plan to cook Joe his favorite meal to butter him up before asking to stay permanently. This plan is instantly shot down by their nutritionists and diet plans. Nicky ends up asking directly, after Joe finds him dusting the ceiling fans. 

They’re really high up. There may be a ladder involved, and he might have taped the duster to the end of a hockey stick to reach. Joe startles him into falling off the ladder into his arms, because their lives have become some terrible romantic comedy. This isn't quite as bad as the time they went for a run together and got caught in the rain, racing back inside soaking wet, pink, breathing hard. Staring at each other then and now, Nicky thinks _please kiss me again_ , but Joe didn’t, doesn’t. He steps away once Nicky’s on his own two feet.

“Thank you.” Nicky says.

“What were you even doing up there Nicolò? You break yourself in my house I’m never gonna hear the end of it.” Joe teases, but there’s genuine concern in his eyes. Nicky’s starting to know how to read him very well.

Nicky doesn’t know how to be anything but direct. “What if it were our house?”

Joe is a very smart man, he glances between Nicky and the ceiling fan and says, “Nicky… you don’t have to clean it to stay. You don’t have to do anything.” 

“Joe,” Nicky says, sliding back into Joe’s personal space, careful, “Don’t you want to do something?”

“I wasn't sure, well.” Joe hedges, clearing his throat and adjusting his hat nervously, “You could have changed your mind.”

“No.” Nicky says, smiling, “I really couldn’t have.” He knocks the hat off Joe’s head and kisses him right there in their living room under the dusty ceiling fan. 

The slow slide into deeper intimacy starts with Nicky asking if they can pregame nap together. After he wakes up in Joe’s arms, there’s no going back.


	2. Chapter 2

Quynh joins the team the same season they make Andy the Captain. It’s the best season Andy can remember playing, for those two reasons alone. She also wins the Art Ross, the King Clancy, and the Mark Messier but all that’s just the best _fuck you_ she can manage for making her kick her heels for two years waiting for the former captain to retire. Eventually Andy will admit getting the C is all the better for coinciding with Quynh’s arrival. They tear it up. 

Andy is something of a tank. She moves in straight lines and defensemen seem to just get out of her way, her slapshot is legendary for cracking goalie masks. (It happened _one_ time. Nobody forgets it.) She doesn’t take any shit and she’ll body a ref if they’re in the wrong place. 

Quynh’s a pit viper. She’s small, fast, and the first time she sees her skate Andy’s positive she’s had figure skating training from the way she can turn on a dime. The spin-o-rama is also a tipoff. Quynh’s hands are fast too, reliable. It doesn’t take long until they’re on the first line together, Andy and Lykon feeding her passes over and over for the thrill of watching them hit the back of the net lightning fast. Booker flat out refuses to run drills with them for a while. He says they’re driving him to drink. 

Their dynamic works off the ice too, Quynh’s good humor and utter inability to find Andy intimidating makes her better than anyone at pulling Andy out of a post-loss funk. They start sitting on planes and buses together, every time.

When Andy’s long time boyfriend Achilles breaks up with her, tired of the assholes from TMZ and the long road trips, tired of her disinterest in picking up the technology that would make the distance seem smaller, she spends a while alone. If he didn’t want a girlfriend only in the summer, who would? Sure she hooks up, but so does everybody, except Booker. 

Quynh presses Booker for ‘his story’ after the tenth time he begs off going out with them, leaning across the aisle on the team plane. She promises she’ll go easy on him in whatever video game they’re always playing if he does. Andy knows better. Booker seems to too, he sighs and pushes a hand through his hair, looking a hundred years old and so goddamn French about it. 

“He’s divorced.” Andy says, before he can go on about his family’s history fighting for Napoleon or something. They were pretty drunk when he told her that shit, it still depresses her if she drinks too much red wine. “It wasn’t pretty, he doesn’t see his kids.”

“Thanks Captain.” Booker says. She honestly can’t tell if he means it sarcastically. 

“Shit, Books. Sorry for sticking my nose in it.” Quynh says, settling back down in her seat, frowning down at her PSP. “I just thought you were going to say everybody always recognizes you.”

“What?” Andy asks, confused.

“Why would they?” Booker says. 

“Um, because you’re that meme?” Quynh says, glancing back and forth between them like she thinks they’re messing with her. As if anybody on this team would try to prank her, she’s the one who won’t stop hiding in goalie bags and giving out shaving cream pies to the face on camera for each new milestone anybody hits. 

“What meme?” Booker asks, alarmed.

“What’s a fucking meme?” Andy says. That time she is joking, but Quynh doesn’t even do her the courtesy of laughing, she’s too busy pulling up the image search. 

It’s Booker alright. It’s a closeup of Booker’s face taken by the camera they stuck in the back of the nets at the Olympics, the ones that are kind of fish-eye. He’s in French colors, his beard is out of control, and the expression on his face is so utterly defeated that Andy’s cracking up before she can think the better of it.

Quynh flips through a couple examples, they’re all “ALWAYS THE BRIDESMAID / NEVER THE BRIDE, and “TFW / YOUR OWN TEAM SCORES ON YOU AGAIN”. Booker gets too mad to take the joke pretty quick, waving them off. 

“Pretty much every time we lose somebody tweets one of these at me.” Quynh tells Andy, laughing a little. “It’s terrible, I get so mad just from seeing his face sometimes.”

“You and every forward in the league.” Andy agrees, not bothering to keep the pride from her voice. She loves her team. She’s especially proud of Booker for his work this season.

Quynh sighs dramatically, throwing her hands up high enough that Joe in the row behind them slaps at one. She flips him off and keeps them up there. “I knew I was replaceable to you, Captain.” 

“Just another pretty face.” Andy says. They grin at each other but Andy doesn’t like the troubled look she catches flit across Quynh’s face when she looks away. “Really though, you've done wonders for this team, for me. You know that.”

“I do, no worries.” Quynh says, quiet. Andy knows she’s been on four teams since getting drafted. That would make anyone insecure. 

“Hey, it’s you and me.” Andy says, meaning it. The look Quynh gives her cuts deep. “Everybody says so, even Jermey fucking Roenick.”

“Til the end.” Quynh confirms, holding out her fist for a tap.

* * *

Andy doesn’t quite realize she’s in trouble until they get on a hot streak so deliciously good that everyone starts to act weird about it. Joe eats the same meal he ate before the first win over and over until he hates it, refusing to stop while the streak lasts. He also refuses to stop complaining. Booker gets increasingly robotic during warmups, the repetition settling him somehow, fussing over the exact state of the ice around the net. 

Even Lykon, who Andy usually trusts to be level-headed, slaps the phone out of her hand one day in the locker room because he thought her ringtone sounded like the other team’s goal song. That doesn’t even make sense. Why would she do that?

The thing about the streak that’s making Andy act weird is the way Quynh keeps leaping directly at her for every single celly. It’s never a gentle impact. She’s always screaming, both her fucking skates off the ice, trusting Andy to catch her. It’s terrifying. The fans eat it up. 

Eventually Andy snaps, turning around practically before they’re even in the room to find Quynh right behind her grinning ear to ear. She says, “You have to stop doing that, I don’t care if we lose.”

Joe looks between them and makes an extremely dramatic face, squeezing past to walk awkwardly away in his skates. 

Quynh blinks, the smile dropping off her face, “Andy, what-“

Andy puts both hands on her shoulders, even through her gloves and Quynh’s pads it probably doesn’t feel like much. “Please, stop doing that.”

“You’re... scared?” Quynh asks, searching her eyes. “Huh.” 

“This team will suffer more than one loss if you break something.” Andy grumbles, taking her hands back. Quynh nods her understanding, they hit the showers without another word.

Later Andy gets a text, a picture. It’s Booker’s meme face, the text says “YOU & ME TIL THE END / BUT THEN SHE SAYS DOWN GIRL”. Andy doesn’t completely get it, but she stares at it for a long time.

* * *

They’re drunk. They’re really drunk; Andy at least got to this point on purpose, Booker gets there organically, riding her coattails. They don’t do this much anymore, they don’t let each other.

Tonight they’re in one bed in a shared hotel room, having secretly traded roommates the way they do sometimes. Their shoulders bump together as they pass the bottle between them. The TV’s on but whatever movie it’s playing isn’t one she recognizes, they’re not really watching it they’re just... commiserating. Booker will say something and Andy will say something but it’s not really a conversation, their statements don’t relate except on a deeper level where they’re both sad and drunk and tired. 

“She wants me to pay for a sports car for Jean-Pierre’s 16th birthday.” Booker says.

“I just… I’m so into her.” Andy says.

“He’s not even fourteen, why does she want to fight about this now?”

“She’s funny? And I think about her all the time, any time anybody flirts with me I compare them to her.”

“If I get him a sports car he’ll fucking crash it, and if he dies she’ll blame me for that too.”

“I want her to sit in my lap. I can picture it perfectly. It’s the hottest thing I can imagine and it’s not even that dirty. What’s wrong with me?”

There’s a long moment of silence while their intoxicated brains try to process each other’s statements. 

“I think you should go for it.” Booker says, shooting her a watery thumbs up. 

“I think you should go back in time and name your kid something less stupid.” Andy replies. It makes Booker laugh when she’s mean to him, which probably says something about how he got into the whole ex-wife mess in the first place. He takes the bottle back and doesn’t disagree. 

“I can’t go for it.” Andy argues, staring up at the ceiling. “She’s my teammate, my linemate.” 

“Yeah, and she’d still be your friend if she wasn’t any of that. Of those. Them.” Booker says, surprisingly coherent considering.

“It’s a lot to lose. Not sure I’d get over it.”

“Not sure you’re over Achilles now.” Booker says, just as mean. They know each other too well. “I’m saying… I’m saying go for it. I don’t think you can lose her.”

“Why not? The universe is exactly that tragic, you and I both know it, Book.” Andy says. She looks at him now, he looks nothing like his face on the meme. He just looks human.

“I don’t think she’d get over losing you either, Cap.” Booker says, soft. He’s falling asleep, hand still wrapped around the bottle. Andy pets his hair until he does, thinking about it.

* * *

They got Quynh in the middle of the season, the blowout season Andy became Captain. They lose her in the middle of a season too, the season Nicky and Joe do their dance. That’s how it goes sometimes. The show goes on.

Only Booker guesses how messed up about it Andy is, when Quynh swings by to get her shit. They’ve already given her a new bag with her new team logo, the sight of it makes Andy want to break glass. Instead she hovers in the doorway, sweaty from doing cardio, icing her shoulder. 

Andy can tell Quynh’s trying not to look betrayed when she turns around, that’s what kills her. 

“Guess this is the end, huh Captain?” Quynh says, with forced cheer. 

It isn’t until she’s gone that Andy says her name into the empty room.

* * *

It all comes to a head during All Star Weekend. 

It’s not like they planned it, they do text on and off but don’t talk hockey most of the time. Unless it’s about one of their old teammates doing something particularly good or particularly stupid. 

Andy’s captain of one team and she drafts Quynh first, partly to fuck with all the assholes betting on her to get the car this year, mostly because they play well together. Andy’s here to play. If she doesn’t get to fuck off to Malta like Nicky and Joe she’s going to make her own brand of fun during this media circus. 

Trolling and pranks are some of Quynh’s specialties, mainly because everyone underestimates her. Andy doesn’t. She’s not about to risk a car full of packing peanuts. 

She still doesn’t see it coming when Quynh comes to her hotel room after their ‘team dinner’ with a box of dental dams in one hand and a bottle of rosé in the other. 

“Let’s not fuck around, Andy.” Quynh says, putting on a brave face. “You want me or what?”

Andy pulls her in by the necklace she’s always wearing, the one she’s never asked about. She promises herself she’ll ask in the morning. “I think fucking around is exactly what we should do.”

Quynh has to go up on her tiptoes to kiss her and she nearly breaks the bottle trying to set it down somewhere without really looking, too busy chasing Andy’s tongue, but eventually they’re horizontal and it’s no problem at all.

* * *

#### B Side

Nobody warned Quynh when she got the boot to a different division mid-season that her new Captain was the GOAT. She’s heard, obviously, of Andromache the Scythian, an insanely specific and metal as _fuck_ nickname that some sports commentator slash former player came up with thanks to their bachelors in history from the University of Minnesota. (Why are all hockey players such nerds?) That and the fact that teams practically waged war to draft her first. Andy is so self-assured and capable on the ice and off that Quynh has a full on gay panic about it and she’s been out for years. 

She’s a professional hockey player, she keeps her head down, eyes up, hands soft and attracts attention in the only way she’s ever had work before: scoring goals. Oh, plus sick pranks.

Booker is her favorite target because he takes everything in stride while the rest of the team loses it. She replaces all of his shoes with crocs and he starts wearing them outside the barn. His first shutout of the season she slams him with a shaving cream pie during his media scrum and he just wipes his out of his eyes and keeps talking without a hint of irony about how much he appreciates the team’s support. Quynh even stoops so low as to pull the classic ice-bucket full of water above the hotel room door prank. Booker gets soaked, but he just stands there, stares at his roommate, and asks if this means he should go for ice. 

She respects Booker for that, because Joe absolutely cannot handle being the target of shenanigans. He _cries_. She did mess with his peanut butter but how was she supposed to know it was part of his superstitious pre-game routine?

Quynh knows without having to check that Andy’s off limits for pranks. Still, that leaves the goals, and they get more than their fair share of each other’s sticks. The season goes by in a rinse and repeat of jumping the boards, following Andy’s play, watching the goal light flash, slamming into an overenthusiastic group hug; winning and losing. Still she never really gets comfortable. She knows better.

* * *

In the off season, Quynh starts texting Andy.

**Thinking about chopping the flow but don’t want to steal your look**

**Do it.**

 **It’s so much easier short.**

**Some things are worth the effort!**

**Yeah, leg day, not hair.**

**Getting so much insight into your priorities**

**You asked.**

**Tryin to put on the wheels! ;) ;)**

**Just don’t hurt yourself.**

And then, Andy starts texting her. 

**I’m going to kill Booker and Joe.**

**You need me to help hide the bodies?**

**Andy?**

**Oh no...**

**They’re alive.**

**For now.**

**What were they doing?**

**Or should I read about it on deadspin tomorrow**

**They claim they didn’t know the ice bucket challenge was both voluntary...**

**And two years ago.**

**Where’s the tape**

**Andy I need the tape**

**Never.**

**No fair! I thought we couldn’t prank you**

**You can try.**

**[img attached]**

**Oh, wow…**

**What?**

**Booker looks like when you get a cat wet but Joe looks like he doesn’t eat carbs**

**Aren’t they awful?**

**You love them :) <3**

They start running together, warming up on the way to the midpoint between their disgustingly large houses in their different gated communities and finding a cardio-friendly speed along the riverbank. It’s perfect, they don’t talk much. Quynh gets to blast Hayley Kiyoko and Janelle Monae and watch Andy’s broad shoulders as she sprints away, thinking about empty rooms and Andy in ice baths and nothing at all.

* * *

Quynh knows she’s a good player. She knows sometimes the shit trades that happen to her are because she’s a good player, she knows there are people who make obscene amounts of money who see her as a particularly valuable chess piece sometimes. It still hurts. It’s still a nightmare to move, and build chemistry, and focus on the game, the period, the shift that she’s in. 

It’s harder to focus after Andy, after maybe being something with Andy. Quynh’s good on her own but she and Andy were better than good. They were blind passes that always seemed to connect, they were buzzer beaters, goals in over time, blocked shots, they got the crowd on their feet. Quynh takes sick satisfaction out of watching Andy’s team trip and fall on its face without her, their playoff run peaking too soon, dragging out into heartache. She doesn’t like seeing Andy hurt but she doesn’t like Andy playing without her either. It’s stupid. 

She’s sitting on her couch watching the game with a beer and a cheat meal feeling so fucking sorry for herself, drowning in self-pity. That’s when Quynh decides she’s not getting traded again. And she isn’t. Not that it’s that easy. She steps up, handles more of the media scrums, stays on the ice later and later, gives all the rookies her cell number. She gets a new trainer and a new therapist. 

They give her the A after the next season, after Andy and Joe and Booker and Nicky and Nile win the cup without her. She’s a little proud that her competitive streak, a trait most of them share, makes her work even harder after that.

She confronts Andy at All Stars. It’s a long time coming and Quynh can’t stand seeing her again, playing with her again, and not going for it. She’s not a coward and Andy is still - she can’t emphasize this enough - so fucking hot. The way she moves, especially on the ice, regularly has commentators steering into dangerous adjective territory. Quynh thinks she’s seen Andy score a goal every possible way, at her side, against her, in grainy old highlight reels. She wants to see something else. 

They hook up after their team wins the exhibition game which of course means Quynh spends all of the next day mic’d up, unable to openly flirt the way she planned during the skills challenges. Andy, because she’s an enormous hockey nerd who probably knows the stats of some members of her team better than they do, has expertly selected players for each challenge. Only a few guys grumble and switch around, because they had dumb shit planned for the shootout or whatever.

Just about everybody is lined up in front of the bench, most guys down on one knee, a couple of kids wandering by in shirts that say “MAMAN” on the back. Cute stuff for the cameras. Quynh and Andy are warming up for the accuracy challenge, until Quynh gets bored of that and skates over to Andy at the side of the net, bumping their shoulders together. 

“Too bad Nicky’s not here, eh?” She asks Andy.

Andy snorts, shakes her head. “You’ve got him beat, trust me.” To anyone else that probably sounds like a supportive captain. Quynh hears: _I know what your hands can do_. It’s something about Andy’s eyes on her. “Are you talking to me so you won’t get interviewed?” Andy asks. 

Some poor sap has been cornered by Roenick, faking laughter and mumbling about keeping his head down. Andy and Quynh both laugh in their direction. 

“I’m talking to you for the pleasure of your company, Cap.” Quynh says, grinning. That’s about as flirty as she can get on mic. If she happens to emphasize the word pleasure, well, all the better for making Andy’s gloves squeeze around her stick briefly. “Also I’m pretending we’re strategizing. Blah blah, sauce it to me good, blah blah.” 

Andy laughs, a real laugh, not pretty but _wonderful_. “If that’s your play you better go talk to Dizzy too.” She gestures to the other side of the net where a rookie from Andy’s team is participating in the wave the crowd has going, raising her stick over her head with both hands when it comes around this side of the ice.

Quynh gets waved over to start the challenge and says, “Oh no, no time! Hope you guys teach them to pass in your division.” She holds out a fist for Andy to bump before she goes.

Quynh skates out, enjoying the cheers as much as the boos from the crowd and stands ready, skates apart, knees bent, perpendicular to the net. She twists to face it and taps her stick, nodding once to Andy, once to Dizzy. Time to break a record. 

The buzzer blares. Quynh hits the high corners first, top left then top right. The targets smash in the most satisfying way. The crowd goes silent as the announcer counts “One! Two!” She misses the third, shifts to take the next pass from Dizzy and slaps it so hard it shoots through the target in a puck-shaped rectangle rather than breaking it. “Three!” Andy’s next pass is right where she needs it, the announcer’s saying “Four!” right after, no delay. Qunyh does a little spin in victory as the stadium erupts in shouting and stick tapping from the other players. Dizzy and Andy skate towards her, grinning, to tap the top of her head with their gloves and call her a beaut. 

“Can’t get out of that interview now.” Andy says, nodding to the camera guys. She looks proud. 

“You’re next, mask-breaker.” Quynh chirps back. Andy groans. 

Hardest shot is a quick one, there’s not a lot of competition for Andromache there this year. She’s not the biggest player but there’s something about her lean, her torque, her arms… Quynh’s getting distracted, laying on the ice at the end of a long line of spectators. There’s no missing the sound of impact though, Andy’s puck slams into the back of the net at 104 miles per hour. Watching the instant replay is so hot Quynh has to sternly remind herself she’s mic’d. Her breathless _‘Holy s***.’_ still makes the cut for the twitter video.

Quynh goes in for fastest skater too but wobbles around the last curve, cursing through panting breaths as she crosses the finish line knowing she won’t have won. It’s still fun to blast past the benches for what feels like a hundred fist bumps and wave to the crowd. 

Andy’s team ekes out the win, down to the wire in a way that seems completely designed to boost ratings and not actually an indicator of skill. Not that Quynh’s biased. Not that she’s planning to prank the other team’s afterparty. If they all end up in their underwear locked on their hotel balcony for an hour, well, that’s just a coincidence.

* * *

Next season Quynh makes Captain and it’s their turn to develop a famous rivalry, not that most people realize it’s fueled by mutual respect and a lot of sexual tension. Unlike Joe and Nicky, who have since figured their shit out and no longer construct intricate rituals to touch each other, thank god, Quynh and Andy don’t fight. 

Okay, maybe they sort-of fight, once. Quynh’s small for a hockey player but she doesn’t take getting pushed around very well. Pushing people around is how Andy’s been consistently among the top goal scorers every regular season she’s played more than half the games. It’s not a fight as much as a scrum they’re both in, which flares up and ends quickly for Quynh, who gets tripped before she can land a single blow. 

One of Andy’s teammates helps her up, Free-something, until she’s shoved away by one of Quynh’s teammates. Then they’re all back to being rowdy ice clowns until the refs step in and pack the penalty boxes. That’s a fun game. 

Aside from their on-ice rivalry, Andy and Quynh handle long-distance just fine. Quynh pesters her into getting better at texting and occasionally falling asleep on facetime, and they spend the summers together, going back to their runs. Andy’s plotting her retirement anyway. She says she wants to give Quynh the chance to win the cup, but really she’s ready to start coaching youth leagues instead of just funding them.

When they attend Joe and Nicky’s wedding together it gives Quynh ideas. 

The reception is out by a lake, string lights and fireflies and their reflections everywhere she looks. Quynh and Andy are dancing, which they haven’t done much of yet. It’s more swaying at this point, both of them sleepy drunk on strawberry champagne and chocolate cake and love. It hurts a little to look at Joe and Nicky, the newlyweds, because they’re so beautiful. They’re properly dancing, must have taken lessons, and they fit together in each other's arms in a way that makes Quynh realize with her heels on she and Andy must fit the same. 

She watches Booker cut in to dance with Joe, stumbling and looking far too serious for the end of the night. Joe goes happily, pressing his forehead to Booker’s, ebullient. Nicky’s hand lingers on the back of Joe’s neck until the two of them twirl away and Quynh catches his eye.

“Hey,” Quynh whispers, “You should dance with Nicky, let me get off these heels for a minute.” 

Andy glances over at him. Nicky’s standing off to the side of the dancefloor now, his eyes still on Joe. He’s missing his suit jacket and his tie is hanging loose around his neck. There’s lipstick on his cheek from someone, which Joe wouldn’t let him wipe off. He looks so young, Quynh thinks.

Andy says, “Are you sure?” When Quynh nods, Andy tilts her chin up for a kiss, lingering, a placeholder, and goes to Nicky. Quynh watches her leave (always great) and sits back down at their table.

Looking at her friends, the lights, the lake, she thinks: _I want this_. It’s a thought she’s been learning to embrace, a thought she wants to motivate her. She catches Andy’s gaze. She can see Andy mouth “What?” at her, but just shrugs. Andy already knows why Quynh’s looking at her. 

Quynh’s never really made any attempt to hide it. She remembers staring at Andy on the way home from the bars, being carried by Booker because somehow he’d been the most sober. She remembers Andy staring at her after the trade as she cleaned out her gear, ice melting and dropping down from her shoulder, that old injury. She remembers their first morning after, tracing an old scar on Andy’s side, the way Andy had looked when Quynh said, “You should tell me about this someday.”

Actually being with Andy now is like skating on a frozen lake. She has to trust if she starts to fall through the ice, Andy will catch her. She can’t watch her feet or she’ll miss where she’s going, can’t watch the puck or she’ll miss what she’s shooting at. Being with Andy is like… sometimes things aren’t like other things. It’s just good.

Quynh gets a ring in Andy’s size engraved with _until the end_. Her proposal involves an elaborate prank and at least one injury to a multimillion dollar jock. All that matters is Andy still says yes. At their wedding they serve baklava.

**Author's Note:**

> I’d like to apologize for the general lack of Plot or for using this to procrastinate other fic but I sincerely cannot. If nobody else likes this at least I got it out of my head.
> 
> Thanks as always to herocomplex for the beta and encouragement and for validating that this is definitely a ‘I swear I don’t just write niche porn’ fic… unfortunately it’s still a niche au. Did you really not know what a deke was? Love you.
> 
> Edit, 12/25/20: Meli not only did podfic of this but also fanart, I’m crying on Christmas y’all. [ Check this out!!!](https://cursed-luca-art.tumblr.com/post/638494058724130816/some-fanart-of-cluelessheroess-hockey-au-you)

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Podfic] remember my name](https://archiveofourown.org/works/27052618) by [hnghh](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hnghh/pseuds/hnghh)




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